


Every wall is a door

by DeVereWinterton



Series: CoT: Missed Smutportunities [1]
Category: Miss Fisher and the Crypt of Tears (2020), Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Banter, Boarding house bonanza, Confrontations, F/M, If so I'm disappointed, Quimstick, Ralph Waldo Emerson - Freeform, Reunion shagnanigans, Shagnanigans, Smut, but not really, did you expect anything else from me, sort of canon compliant, walls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:40:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23464837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeVereWinterton/pseuds/DeVereWinterton
Summary: Jack is a sass-mouth, Phryne wants Jack's quimstick, and together they might just start an actual fire.Also hi I’m back.
Relationships: Phryne Fisher & Jack Robinson, Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Series: CoT: Missed Smutportunities [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1701574
Comments: 34
Kudos: 141





	Every wall is a door

**Author's Note:**

> So I saw the movie the other day. And I wrote a fic. Because damn it, Jack wearing the flimsiest undershirt in the history of undershirts deserves a fic. I am aware this might not be entirely credible, or even canon-compliant, but my brain saw that shirt and ran with it. Please be gentle when roasting my balls in the comment section. I have many insecurities and with this being the first fic I have written in a long time, I don’t want to disappoint anyone.
> 
> ‘Every wall is a door’ is a quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson. The boarding house scene has a door in it, so there is that. There are doors. Open doors, closed doors. And walls, both literal and figurative. Phrack might break down a couple of those walls, too. Both literally and figuratively. Because when you break down a wall, it might just become a door? 
> 
> I forgot where I was going with this but enjoy.
> 
> Curtsies and confetti go to 221A_brina for the beta.

“Damn it, Jack! How could you come all this way to commemorate me and then refuse to speak to me?”

She let out a huff of frustration.

Phryne wasn’t sure what she’d expected coming here. Going after a man. Well, to be fair, she’d done quite a lot of that in her lifetime. But following a man home? Again, not the first time (though that tended to occur during late night sleuthing). But that wasn’t the point! Here she was, the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher, attempting to entice Detective Inspector Jack Robinson with stories of adventures. Practically seducing him _through a door_ , and with _words_ of all things! She bristled. It was almost ridiculous if it wasn’t so perfectly befitting them.

 _Wait_. Since when had she started looking at the two of them as a _them_?!

This wasn’t the kind of seduction she was amenable to. She wanted to _look_ at the men she seduced. And she preferred to do so with less clothes on. But deep down, Phryne knew this wasn’t about seduction, or about enticing Jack. Not really. Asking Jack to join her on this investigation was just a rather pathetic metaphor for a far more important question.

_Jack…_

He was _here_. In London. And he’d completely and utterly thrown her for a loop with his presence. She’d felt out of control, and it had terrified her. Phryne had been surprised by her feelings for him. They were so strong, so raw, so potent. But then again, hadn’t they always been that way?

She wanted to fix this thing between them. She wanted their partnership. Both in her professional and private life. She’d missed him. Dearly.

Truth be told, her behaviour during their reunion hadn’t exactly been her finest hour. She was aware of this. But Jack… he’d just been so, so _angry_. Here she was, elated and excited to return to London and he had spoken about her death? Her eulogy? She could care less about those false rumours. What had pained her the most was seeing the hurt in his eyes. In that moment, their vastly different emotions had clashed, but she was here _now_ to sort this mess.

The landlady of the boarding house, Mrs Watson, had been none too pleased to find a visitor on her doorstep at such a late hour. However, when Phryne had told her who she was, and who she was there to see, the old woman’s face had lit up like a Christmas tree. No doubt Jack had been charming the old biddy with his proper behaviour, love for homecooked meals, and that voracious appetite of his… Just thinking about the latter had almost made her want to drool on the sidewalk, but she’d refrained. She was a lady, after all.

Suddenly, the door opened.

Phryne hadn’t a clue what she’d find when she’d decided to pay Jack a visit.

But Jack Robinson, hair unkempt, wearing the flimsiest of undershirts she’d ever laid eyes on, quite obviously hastily tucked into dark blue, partially buttoned trousers slung low on his hips… Well, quite frankly that was the stuff of her more sensual dreams.

And really, that man’s nipples had no business looking so delectable, even when covered by a flimsy undershirt.

 _My. It really_ is _flimsy, isn’t it?_

She wanted to eat him right out of that shirt.

However, the expression Jack wore on his face did not match the ensemble he was currently sporting.

“Apparently, with surprisingly little effort and much ease,” Jack replied rather saucily, door in one hand, while leaning on the doorframe with the other. The man really had a magnificent lean.

 _Oh, but this would not do._ _Not at all._ Opting to ignore his insult, if only temporarily, Phryne couldn’t help but notice Jack looked… off. Flustered. She couldn’t be sure what he’d been up to before she’d knocked on his door, but she could certainly come up with several interesting, tantalizing scenarios. It was a decided advantage, and one she intended to use.

“You can pretend you want to shirk away from adventure all you like, Jack.” She boldly stepped into his personal space. “But then why the flushed face?” With their chests almost touching, she noticed his sharp intake of breath. Good. “Why the heavy breathing? Did you find my story… intriguing?”

Standing this close to him, she noticed the contours of his well-defined muscles. The slight stubble on his cheeks and jaw. The mussed up curls she longed to run her fingers through. She’d never seen him look so… undressed. Unkempt. Well, Queenscliff being the one exception. But that had been a while. Comparing this Jack to ‘suit-Jack’… well, this Jack was practically naked. And the sight of him affected her far more than she was willing to let on. She’d seen many a man _en dishabille_ , but this was _Jack_. And a temptingly appetizing version of Jack at that.

“I’m burning the midnight oil,” Jack replied dryly, gesturing towards the two burning oil lamps in his small room. “It’s hot.” There was no point in telling her how her story had indeed enticed him. Affected him. Possibly even excited him, if only a little. It wasn’t his fault. Her voice just was very… _stimulating._

And when she’d mentioned she _needed_ him in that breathy voice of hers... He knew she’d done it on purpose, but his cock had twitched at the mere implications of her statement all the same. Until she’d finished that sentence and had revealed to him the true reason of her visit. But a man could dream…

Phryne gave him a pointed look, and raised an eyebrow as if to say ‘Yes, it is hot.’ There was a heat in her gaze he found to be both equally dangerous, and beguiling.

“Phryne,” Jack warned her, his rich baritone voice ruffling her smooth edges. He wanted her. God knew he wanted nothing more, and she wasn’t making it as easy for him to ignore her as he’d previously claimed. If anything, he was rapidly losing control in one way or another with her proximity. The two of them in such close quarters. Alone.

“Yes, Jack?”

“No.”

_Not now. Not yet._

Phryne noticed the war of emotions taking place in Jack’s eyes. Never easily defeated, nor deterred, she decided on a different tack. She was on a mission, one she wouldn’t give up without a fight. This was important, and she knew nothing that mattered was ever easy.

Taking off her hat and gloves, Phryne placed them on the small side table, next to the wash basin. She smoothed down her cap of raven black hair. She wished she could smooth over the wrinkles in her relationship with Jack just as easily. But apparently this would take longer than she’d anticipated.

“What did it say, Jack?” she queried, putting a specific and familiar emphasis on the ‘k’ whilst placing her hand on his bare arm. A slight shudder ran through her from the skin on skin contact. She could count on one hand the times she’d touched his bare skin. “My eulogy?”

“I already told you, Phryne,” he grunted exasperatedly. With an almost insulting nonchalance, he brushed off her hand, and walked further back into the small, dimly-lit room.

The sight of his unmade bed – the imprint on his pillow – did things to her that were probably illegal in at least fifty countries.

“Yes, you’re done with me.” Phryne rolled her eyes with an ease that would’ve made a lesser mortal jealous. Her hand still tingled from where it had lain only briefly on his warm skin. “And yet, here you are, talking to me,” she sassed, and she closed the door behind her with an audible click.

Jack turned. The soft light from the oil lamps and the shadows it created were playing a game of cat and mouse on his face. He absentmindedly raked a hand through tousled curls, and Phryne felt a heavy pulse between her thighs. Honestly, was _everything_ the man did these days arousing to her?!

_Not just these days, Phryne…_

Jack let out a low growl of frustration, making her stomach flip.

“Yes, because you’re insufferable, and you never leave me the hell alone.”

“Was that also part of the eulogy, Jack?” she inquired, a little too flippantly.

“No, but it should have been,” he bit out.

That stung. Yes, she could be insufferable, at times. Often times, she considered it to be a compliment. But this time, it wasn’t; not even when it came from Jack. And she did not want to think about the second half of his statement. She wouldn’t leave him alone. She couldn’t. The best defence… was offence.

“Well, in all fairness Jack, it was _you_ who followed _me_ halfway round the globe. If anything –”

In two short steps he’d closed the distance between them and Phryne could feel his hot breath on her face. She didn’t fear Jack. But even though she knew there was so much going on beneath his stern, brooding exterior, it could still startle her whenever he let it out.

“Is this some kind of game to you, Miss Fisher?” he whispered angrily.

_Oh, so we’re back to that, are we?_

She tilted her head sideways, annoyance bubbling dangerously close to the surface, but she managed to keep a lid on it. “A game, _Inspector_?”

“Yes, Miss Fisher. All of this.” He was gesturing uncharacteristically now and, not for the first time, Phryne wondered if he’d been drinking. “The airplane, the maharaja… that story you just attempted to entice me with, you being here _right now_.” Sensing she was going to let him speak, Jack took a deep breath, creating some space between them. “It’s true I followed you. But as I recall, it was _you_ who told _me_ to come after you.” Another silence, before he quietly added: “And you can hardly blame me for wanting to pay my last respects.”

Phryne’s heart suddenly ached for him. Somehow, she’d failed to consider, _truly_ consider, what it must have been like for him. Finding out she had ‘died.’ And not for the first time during their acquaintance, either. The poor man looked utterly defeated with his shoulders slumped. Right now, he wasn’t even looking her in the eye. As if it pained him greatly to do so. With a start, she realised she probably would have fared similarly, if not far worse, had their roles been reversed.

Tentatively, she reached out to him and gently placed a hand on his chest. He looked at her.

“I never play games when it comes to those who mean the most to me, Jack.”

Jack wanted to believe her. He really did. But he was also painfully reminded of all the times she’d left him out of the loop in favour of her own investigations. Especially the time he’d nearly fled into the arms of an Italian widow because Phryne took up so much room in his heart. Too much, at the time. So much that it had been unbearable. And now, she’d left him out of the loop again. He had thought her dead, and right now he was an emotional wreck, his heart was in turmoil. But it still beat for her with a stubbornness that could probably rival her own.

“We both know that’s not true,” he said quietly, grabbing her smaller hand in his larger one, torn between squeezing it and pushing her away.

“I have not, and would never, intentionally hurt you, Jack,” Phryne said earnestly, and he thought he could almost detect the tears in her eyes.

He swallowed. “I know, Phryne.” He opened his mouth to speak again, but she beat him to it.

“Well… not unless you’d…” she quipped with that slight quirk of her lips, and it did him in.

A soft chuckle escaped Jack without his permission. He couldn’t help it. She always did this to him. She could get away with bloody murder, doing that, but he thought it best not to tell her. He knew her, and it would only give her ideas. And give him more paperwork.

“You’re insufferable,” he repeated, though this time, it did not sound like an insult.

“Yes, you already mentioned that,” she murmured, relief flooding through her and the tension draining from her body. “What else did you write about me?” She gently moved their joined hands to rest over his heart. Her own heart skipped a beat, being so close to him. Jack’s heartbeat was steady and solid beneath her palm, and though it aggravated her that he could remain so calm and composed, it was all so very much like him it made her heart skip yet another beat.

“It’s always about you, isn’t it?” Jack teased, receiving a sardonically raised eyebrow in return. He looked down at her through hooded eyes. “You’re too nosey.”

“Rubbish! You love my nose,” she contradicted him with that small tilt of her head that dared him to tell her otherwise.

Jack pointedly ignored her. Besides, he didn’t just love her nose. She had a number of other… favourable attributes. Phryne bit her lip and refrained from commenting. But the mere sight of those pearly white teeth, sinking into the red, supple flesh of her lips…

 _No_ , he had to _focus_.

“And you’re too careless when it comes to your own safety.”

Unsurprisingly, she snorted at that. She stepped even closer, the fronts of their bodies touching almost everywhere, and her proximity was setting him alight. He felt dizzy when he noticed the slight pressure of her breasts against his chest.

“I’m still mad at you, by the way.” He’d aimed for stern, but all that came out was a hoarse whisper. He was trying to distract her, or himself. Which? He wasn’t sure. Clearly he had failed.

Phryne was playing with the sparse chest hairs peeking out from over the neckline of his shirt, which was _definitely_ distracting _him_.

“I know,” she placated. She looked up at him with bright eyes, and Jack knew in that moment there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her. “But for the sake of indulgence… why?”

“Because you should be more careful.” _When it comes to your life. Your safety. My feelings for you…_

“Jack, I –”

He could feel her tensing, so he continued before she could interrupt him any further. He had no idea when his other hand had made its way to the small of her back, but well… there it was. It felt right, and since Phryne wasn’t objecting, Jack wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, the curve of her glorious arse was _right there_.

“And you’re far too selfless.”

One of her hands was still innocently resting over his heart. Her other hand, however, was working its way towards a destination that was far less pure. When she reached the waistband of his smalls – which was barely hiding under his partially buttoned trousers riding low on his hips – Phryne hummed in agreement. It was a low, sensual sound, and not for the first time that evening Jack felt a distinct stirring in his loins.

“Mmm. I agree with you on that one, Jack. Maybe I should think less about others... And more about myself?” The damn minx was torturing him. She was temptation personified. She slid a hand under the hem of his undershirt, teasing the strip of bare skin just above his smalls. Jack gulped. Phryne gave him a look that was filled with the promise of sin, and he could feel himself growing harder. “However, I’m currently conducting an investigation that could prove the one can go, _hand in hand_ as it were, with the other.”

Jack wasn’t quite sure how he’d forgotten she was the devil incarnate.

“Phryne. _No_ ,” Jack protested. “Mrs Watson is right downstairs and –“

Phryne chose this particular moment to rake the nails of her other hand over his nipple.

Jack let out a hiss, and Phryne wasn’t sure how he’d managed to make that so irresistible. The man was much too desirable for his own good, his brow furrowed, the evidence of his desire stirring close to her hand, and that godforsaken nightshirt that had been a thorn in her eye ever since he’d opened the door. Not to mention his trousers. Never had she been so offended by the mere presence of fabric.

“She’s as deaf as a doorknob, Jack. You know that as well as I do.”

_Speaking of knobs…_

“We really have to _talk_ , Phryne,” Jack protested, but his heart and other parts of his anatomy weren’t in it.

“I thought we were talking, Jack. Remember? You were telling me about my eulogy.”

Phryne leaned in and for a moment, Jack thought she was going to kiss him. But a quick detour made him realise the alternative was probably going to kill him. What was it he’d thought earlier about murder? He’d been wrong. She was _nibbling_ on his neck! How did she know that spot _right there,_ behind his ear, was so sensitive?! Her hand was stroking the soft hairs at the nape of his neck, a stark contrast to the not so innocent things her tongue was up to.

Without warning, she brushed her other hand over his growing erection, betraying his never waning interest.

“Phryne…” Jack warned her again, but it lacked his previous seriousness. His voice sounded strained, even to his own ears.

“What else did you write, Jack?” she purred, speaking into his ear in whispered syllables, and damn it, she was too good.

_Bloody temptress._

“That you’re too single-minded for your own good,” he ground out between clenched teeth, closing his eyes in agonized pleasure. It had been so long, _too_ long, since he’d been touched this intimately. And this wasn’t just anyone. This was the woman he loved, the woman he was deeply and utterly in love with; the woman he couldn’t imagine living without. 

“I’d say this is for both our goods, wouldn’t you, Jack?” she quipped. She squeezed him through his trousers and Jack instantly forgot how to breathe. He let out a stuttering moan and Phryne whispered such filthy encouragements in his ear that he’d most likely be spurting inside his underwear like a randy teenager in under five minutes.

 _“Jesus_ , Phryne.”

“Just ‘Phryne’ will do, Jack,” she chuckled darkly.

“Perfect, _Miss Fisher_.”

Before Phryne could even open her mouth to object, Jack had claimed it in a searing kiss. He had her pinned against the bedroom wall next to the rickety bed with an ease and a swiftness that had her cunt throbbing in sudden anticipation.

Jack wasn’t quite sure where he was going with this, let alone having the presence of mind at present to consider what he was even doing. But damn it, he’d waited so long to have her in his arms again.

She was warm, and soft. And so sweet, and here and _alive._

Jack wanted her with a ferocity that frightened him. He was afraid. He didn’t want to scare her off, didn’t want to send her running with his wants, his desires to be with her. What if her marriage was legitimate? Would she even want to be with him? And, _oh dear God, she’s doing that thing with her tongue…_

Never one to remain dormant or submissive, Phryne bit at his lip just this side of aggressively, and Jack growled, the sound going straight to her pulsing core. Phryne used the momentum to spear her tongue into his mouth. Somebody moaned; and Jack wasn’t sure who, but it didn’t matter. Her breath was hot and hard, and when he ground his hips into her soft belly, it caught in her throat.

He was almost frantically pulling at the closures of her coat, but with her help, they managed to push it off her shoulders and down onto the floor. Tearing their lips apart, Jack rested his forehead on hers, their breathing laboured.

“Jack. I want you,” Phryne panted, realising it was true. Not just for this investigation, but in her life. She did not need a man like she needed air to breathe. But she _wanted_ Jack. Now, and for the foreseeable future. It was a conscious decision, one she had made a long time ago.

“I,” he caught his breath, then stumbled. “You, too.” He frowned.

She gave him an endearing smile, then wound her arms around his neck again to pull him in for another kiss. Almost immediately, he deepened it, his tongue mimicking the plundering of depths he hoped he’d soon discover. His right hand was on her arse, squeezing the supple buttock, making her moan and press back even harder against him. His left was on her waist, making its way up to brush against the soft curve of her breast.

Phryne snaked a hand between their bodies to stroke his cock, dipping inside his smalls to touch his burning flesh. He was so hot, and hard, and she wanted that beautiful thing inside of her. As soon as possible. She simultaneously clawed at his back, earning her a deep growl. Tearing his lips away from hers, he snarled against her neck in an attempt to muffle the sound.

In an unspoken agreement, as though they had already done this a thousand times before, Jack began to pull the hem of her dress up whilst Phryne attempted to undo the few buttons on his trousers he’d managed to secure in his earlier haste to open the door. Attempted, because the outline of his hard cock was distracting her thusly, that in the end, Jack took over from her, pushing his trousers down to his ankles in one swift movement; the tenting of his smalls making Phryne salivate.

“You’re looking awfully smug, Inspector,” Phryne purred saucily, lifting her chin to bare the smooth column of her throat to his hungry gaze.

_I am going to fuck Phryne Fisher against a wall in a boarding house in London._

At that particular moment, his brain couldn’t find a single thing wrong with that particular train of thought, though, this likely had everything to do with all his blood currently being rerouted south of the border.

It was only when her gaze darkened even more, pupils blown and eyes hooded, that Jack realised he’d voiced that thought out loud.

“So you are, Jack.”

Wasting no time and not giving himself the opportunity to consider his own mortification, Jack crushed their bodies together. His hand burned a trail up her leg, up her thigh, leaving fire and goosebumps in its wake. He barely had time to register the softness of her skin when Phryne lifted her right leg to wrap around his waist, and –

They jolted apart at the sound of a loud crash.

In their frantic need and her obvious enthusiasm, Phryne had kicked over the oil lamp next to the bed, the glass breaking, causing oil to seep onto the floor. A small fire was burning, perilously close to them, in fact.

“Fuck!” It was the first time Phryne had ever heard Jack curse, and it was doing absolutely nothing to dampen her rampant desire for him.

They could hear the landlady’s voice in the far off distance.

“Sssshhh, Jack! Mrs Watson!” Phryne admonished as they quickly disentangled themselves in order to deal with the crisis at hand.

“Whatever happened to ‘she’s as deaf as a doorknob?!’” Jack hissed in a shrill voice, mimicking her, all the while attempting to pull up his trousers from around his ankles and nearly toppling over in the process.

“Well I suppose even deafness has its limitations!” she snapped right back, grabbing the top blanket from his cot and tossing it to him, as he was closer to the small fire.

Within seconds, Jack managed to put out the flames with the thick woollen blanket. An admirable feat, considering he still hadn’t managed to pull up his trousers. All that was left was a small, blackened spot on the floorboards. Phryne grabbed the small rug from under the side table and plopped it down to cover the burnt wood.

“There!” she exclaimed, hands on her hips, proudly admiring her own handiwork.

Jack wiped his sweaty brow with his palm, wishing it were his own hands on her hips instead. Ironically, however, the heat of the moment had passed, which he mentally chuffed at. The silence between them was hardly awkward, but as he finished buttoning up his trousers he noticed a distinct moue of disappointment on Phryne’s lips.

That fabric really was an insult to injury.

“Well, I suppose that’s one way of putting out a fire.” Her head cocked momentarily.

Jack just glared at her, though there was a twinkle in his eyes that belied his supposed annoyance.

He observed quietly as Phryne put her crumpled coat, hat and gloves back on. How she managed to look so utterly put together whilst he felt he’d just ran a marathon, twice, and in a swamp, he’d never understand. But she was Phryne Fisher, after all. Jack knew better than to question her ways when it came to all matters sartorial.

She sauntered up to him.

“Jack?”

“Phryne.”

She kissed him. Softly, slowly, sweetly. This time with purpose, and an underlying promise.

She brushed some soot from his cheek.

“Meet me at the rendezvous point in half an hour?” she whispered against his lips. He’d followed her halfway around the world already. Tonight, she’d followed him here. For Phryne, that was almost the equivalent of following someone halfway around the world. Jack knew this had been a tremendous step for her, and wanted to repay her in kind for her efforts, for her bravery. He recognised that her coming here tonight wasn’t simply about the current investigation. There was a much more significant question wrapped up in her request to join him.

He nodded, and the smile that lit up her entire face alone was worth it. The unspoken understanding between them warmed his heart.

Phryne pulled out a small card, and without breaking eye contact, placed it in his trouser pocket. One of her fingers purposely brushed against his flagging erection. He couldn’t help it. She was so _close_ , and she smelled so _good_.

Jack groaned.

“Phryne…”

“Soon, Jack.” Another kiss, and then the heat from her body was gone.

She turned around as she opened the door.

“Oh, and Jack?”

“Hmm?”

“You might want to, ah…” With a smirk on her face that gave him _ideas_ , she pointed at his ruined undershirt, which was now covered in soot, then at the general vicinity of his still half-hard cock. “…freshen up.” And with a wiggle of her eyebrows, she was gone.

Jack sat down heavily on the bed, and wondered what the hell just happened. He couldn’t remember ever feeling both so elated yet so exhausted at the same time. He was also steadfastly trying to ignore whatever was going on inside his trousers. And well. It was hard.

He rolled his eyes skyward.

He could hear Phryne downstairs, putting Mrs Watson to rights. For the umpteenth time that night, Jack tiredly rubbed his face. Then, with sudden clarity, remembered the card in his pocket.

Turning the card in hand, he barked out a laugh.

_All Saints Church, indeed._


End file.
